Dependant upon how often you frequent your local parish, the J. Dawg was either the Son of God, or a rabbi from Galilee. He gave sight to the blind, cured lepers of their ills, fed 5,000 on five loaves of Warburton's and a few fish, or he was simply a man who preached of egalitarian social reform (someone which we could probably use nowadays!). Generally accepted to have at least existed, where opinion divides is after his death. Crucified at the behest of Pontius Pilot via a sizeable act of treachery from Judas Iscariot, his body was then wrapped and placed in a sealed and guarded tomb. This is the point at which things become bit freaky-deaky. Seven days later, the tomb was found vacant and the Messiah appeared before his mother and his followers. He performed a couple of low-key, casual miracles and ascended into heaven, safe in the right hand of God, leaving humanity up in arms for the next 2000 odd years and counting. If he were about today, he'd definitely be a long odds-on favourite to win Britain's Got Talent. Conspiracy theorists (and Kanye) say: Jesus walks. Hallelujah.
Out of touch, out of date and out of work. With no other discernible skills of any real use to society, I thought I'd give this a bash. My main focuses are food, music, sport and anything remotely related to ISS Pro 98. I spend half of my life listening to records and the other half wondering whether it'd be possible to become John Cooper Clarke's mate. He, alongside Stephen Fry and Countdown's Rachel Riley, should run the country.
